


All That Glitters

by Rhiannon87



Category: Uncharted
Genre: F/M, Gen, Heist, Journalism, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena's got a story on mysterious deaths at a Colombian mine; Nate and Sully need to steal some Incan artifacts back. Everything they need is all in one place, and the best way in is through the front doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setup

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a lot of people a lot of thanks. First, last, and always, thanks to Heebee. From giving me the idea for the Macguffin to acting as a sounding board for ideas to serving as beta reader, she’s been invaluable in bringing this story to life. Thanks also to Kim, Ash, Beka, and Ana, for helping me bounce around ideas or just listening to me complain about how writing is hard. It’s taken me four tries to finally get this thing right, and it wouldn't have happened without these wonderful people. Thank you all so very, very much.

The family portrait was pretty standard: husband and wife, both probably in their forties, with four smiling kids arrayed in front of them. The oldest was in his late teens, Elena guessed, while the youngest couldn't be more than eight. They all looked happy, and while Elena knew eventually it would be a comfort, right now it probably only added to the hurt.

“ _That's last year's._ ” The woman from the photograph sat on the couch across from her, her voice choked and quiet as she spoke. “ _Our parish took them every year, before school started..._ ”

Elena nodded and gently set the frame on the coffee table, trading it for her notebook. “ _Mrs. Salazar--_ ”

“ _Benita_ ,” she interrupted. “ _Please, Benita's fine._ ”

“ _Benita,_ ” Elena said, starting again. “ _Can you tell me what they told you about your husband's death?_ ”

She took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. “ _They said he hadn't secured his safety equipment properly,_ ” she explained. “ _He went into the new mineshaft by himself and fell and-- and broke his neck._ ” Benita's voice cracked, and she put a hand to her mouth, blinking hard against tears. Elena winced. She'd done this before, talked to grieving families more times than she could count. That didn't mean it ever got easier.

“ _They said he was negligent,_ ” Benita continued. “ _That it was his fault, so they didn't have to pay us anything!_ ” Anger replaced the grief and sped up her speech, and Elena paused in taking notes. Between Benita's local accent and Spanish being Elena's third-ish language, mentally translating took all her concentration. “ _Fifteen years he worked there, never missed a day, never made a mistake, and now they say it was his fault that he died!_ ” She gestured sharply at the small sitting room they were in. “ _I had to leave my home, take my children from their friends, move in with my sister, and now I have nothing left, I can barely afford to pay for food, I don't know what we're going to do..._ ”

She trailed off, dragging her hand across her eyes, and Elena politely looked away while she composed herself. “ _Did your husband say if he saw anything strange at work?_ ” she asked after a few moments.

Benita shook her head. “ _No, he didn't. Pedro didn't talk about it much at all, the last few months. He seemed unhappy. He'd been talking about finding a new job._ ”

Elena nodded slowly, jotting down a couple quick notes. None of this was new, not really. She wished it was. “ _Have you spoken to any of the other miners' families?_ ”

“ _No,_ ” she said. “ _Not since we moved. I heard that there were more accidents,_ ” she all but spat the word, “ _but I didn't know any of them._ ”

Elena nodded again. “ _Thank you,_ ” she said, closing her notebook. “ _This has been very helpful._ ”

“ _You believe me, don't you?_ ”

When she'd heard seventeen other stories that sounded almost exactly the same? How could she not? “ _I do,_ ” she said, and the sheer relief that flooded Benita's face made Elena's heart ache in sympathy. “ _And I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to find out what really happened._ ”

“ _Thank you, thank you, no one else has believed me, thank you--_ ”

“ _Can you do one thing for me?_ ” Elena asked, cutting in as gently as she could. Benita cleared her throat and nodded. “ _Don't tell anyone I talked to you about this,_ ” she said. “ _If the people responsible find out what I'm doing, I won't be able to finish my investigation._ ”

Benita nodded. “ _Of course,_ ” she said. “ _Will you call me when you know something?_ ”

“ _I will._ ” They both stood, and as Elena turned, she saw two small figures duck out of sight into the hallway, just a second too slow to avoid being seen. Poor kids. Losing their father, then getting completely uprooted and moved across the country... She shook her head as Benita walked her to the door. “ _Take care,_ ” Elena said.

“ _You, too. Thank you again._ ”

Elena slowly made her way down the stairs and out to the street. Selfishly, she was glad that the Salazars were the only family close enough for a face-to-face interview. The phone calls had been hard enough.

She flagged down a cab at the corner and hopped in, giving the address for her hotel before turning to watch the streets pass by outside the window. Pedro Salazar brought the death-by-negligence count at La Abeja mine to eighteen. Eighteen deaths in two months, at a mine that, until recently, had a comparatively stellar safety record. She'd stumbled across the situation more or less by accident, while trying to track down the latest sources of funding for one of Colombia's myriad paramilitary groups. The black market trade in Colombian emeralds seemed like a decent place to start; she’d started with reported thefts, but then she'd found eighteen miners dead in less than eight weeks. Most of the other families had reported stories similar to Pedro’s: loyal, upstanding employees whose sudden deaths were being called accidents or personal negligence.

Something was going on there, and while she was still looking into the paramilitary groups, she'd turned the bulk of her attention to this mine. It was a small, private operation, nothing like the bigger ones further south, the places that produced high-quality gems. Still quite lucrative for the owners: the Cotterills, British citizens who lived here in Barranquilla. Elena had been traveling around the country for the last few weeks, but once she'd gotten wind of the situation with the mines, she'd booked a hotel room in the city. Better to get a feel for the owners before trying to head out to the mines herself. If she went out there at all-- eighteen 'accidents' wasn't a good sign, and she didn't want to find herself as number nineteen.

Elena shook her head to clear it and pulled out her notebook. The Salazars had been the last family on her list. Probably not a bad idea to spend the afternoon digging into the official records, see what else she could dig up. Her stomach rumbled, and she huffed out a laugh. Okay, run back to her hotel room to grab a few things, then lunch, _then_ shutting herself in an unventilated room with mountains of paper.

Such a glamorous life, she thought as the cab came to a stop outside her hotel. Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she was paying the cabbie, and she answered without checking the caller ID. “Elena Fisher.”

“That's awfully formal,” Nate said cheerfully. “Are you working?”

Elena grinned as she shut the cab door behind her. “Not at the moment,” she said. A little strange for Nate to be calling in the middle of the day, but it was nice to hear from him. “I just got back from an interview.”

“Oh,” Nate said. “That'd explain it.”

She frowned. “Explain what?” she asked as she stepped through the front door of the hotel. Then she stopped dead, staring in disbelief.

From the other side of the lobby, Nate gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. Behind him, Sully waved. “Why you didn't answer when the front desk called your room,” he said, then hung up.

Elena stared for another few seconds before lowering her phone. “What are you two _doing_ here?” she demanded as soon as she was close enough.

Nate and Sully exchanged looks, their smiles fading slightly. “Nice to see you, too,” Nate said, a little wounded.

“I'm-- I--” Elena squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them, her husband and father-in-law were both still standing in the lobby of her hotel. “It is nice to see you, but... why are you here?”

“We've got a job,” Sully replied, which explained almost nothing.

Elena raised her eyebrows. “What kind of a job?”

Almost in sync, Nate and Sully glanced furtively around the lobby. Elena smirked in spite of herself. “Uh, maybe we should talk about this upstairs,” Nate said.

Right. So it was _that_ kind of a job. She really shouldn’t have been surprised—it wasn’t like they’d have shown up at her hotel if they were on their way to some long-lost jungle ruins. She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a sharp breath. “Okay,” she said, lowering her hand. “Let's drop off your bags, we'll grab lunch, and then you guys can tell me what's going on.”

“I already put mine in my room,” Sully said, holding up his empty hands with a grin. “Didn't book a separate room for Nate, though.”

Elena chuckled. “Of course not.” Nate still looked a little apprehensive; she shook her head, then stepped forward to give him a hug. She heard his bag hit the floor beside them as he wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. It had been weeks since she'd seen him, after all.

“C'mon,” Elena said when she stepped back. “I'll get you a room key, and you can stash your bag. Then lunch.”

Nate grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

*

Lunch was takeout from a nearby empanadas place, and they’d barely settled in at the small table in Elena’s hotel room before she started asking questions. “I take it this job of yours isn’t anything reputable?”

Sully snorted. “Is it ever?”

Nate chuckled and shook his head. “Our client’s a guy named Anthony Delaurent,” he said. “He contacted us on behalf of a collector in Lima—the collector bought some Incan pottery, planned on donating the pieces to a museum, but they got 'intercepted' on the way.”

She nodded. “And you’re supposed to get them back.”

“Right.” Nate hesitated. “From the people you’re doing your story on.”

Elena blinked at him and slowly lowered her drink. “What?”

“The Cotterills? Those are the people who own the mine, right?” Nate asked. She nodded, still staring incredulously. “Apparently they’ve got a decent antiquities collection, and most of it’s black market stuff.”

Elena glanced from Nate to Sully and back. “Please don't tell me you buy that coincidence,” she said. “This guy manages to find a pair of thieves who just so happen to know someone who's doing an investigation on the target.”

Nate shrugged helplessly. The antiquities side of the criminal underworld tended to be a pretty small place—weird connections were hardly unheard of. “He didn’t mention you or your story when we talked to him,” Sully said. “And we didn’t bring it up.”

She sighed. “When did he contact you?”

“Yesterday.” All that time helping Sully with the new plane had paid off. Nate didn’t even want to think about what it would have cost if they’d flown commercial to get here. 

“Dammit.” Elena frowned and shook her head. “I’ve been trying to keep this quiet, but someone must have talked. There’s no _way_ it’s a coincidence that he hired you two. Something else is going on here.”

“Well, I do have good news,” Nate said. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he grinned. “The Cotterill’s estate is locked down tight. Breaking in would be pretty much impossible.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But,” Nate continued, relishing the reveal, “they’re throwing a big, fancy charity event at their estate later this week. Since we can’t break in, we'll just walk in the front doors. We get the artifacts, you get your story, everybody wins.”

Elena stared at him thoughtfully. “Well,” she said finally, “I’ve heard worse plans.”

“Usually from us,” Sully muttered, and she smirked.

“So when’s the party?”

This part she wasn’t gonna like. “Saturday.”

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s in four days.”

“Yeah.”

Elena sighed. “Guess we better get to work, then,” she said. “What do you two know about the Cotterills?”

Nate shrugged. “Not much, besides what you’ve mentioned on the phone,” he said. “Delaurent didn’t have much to say about them.”

“He tracked the black market sale to them, and that’s where he handed it off to us,” Sully added.

Elena nodded and tilted her chair back on two legs, reaching for a file on the bed behind her. Nate put his drink down, just in case he needed to make a quick grab to keep her from falling backwards. She snagged the file successfully and let her chair fall forward with a muffled thud. “Sebastian and Georgia Cotterill,” she said, pushing a takeout box aside to make room for her papers. “British citizens who’ve lived here for about sixteen years, very wealthy, no children, own the controlling interest in La Abeja emerald mines.” Her expression went grim. “Those mines have had eighteen worker deaths in the last two months.”

Nate winced. “I take it that’s high?” Sully asked.

“They didn’t have eighteen deaths in the last five years,” Elena replied. “That’s why I’ve been looking into it. Whatever’s going on out there, the Cotterills are almost certainly involved, even if it’s just to cover up the truth.”

That didn’t sound good. Nate had known this job was going to be more complicated than advertised, thanks to Elena’s story, but this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. Still. He and Sully had a job to do. So did Elena. Working together meant everyone would get what they wanted. “So, the party’s in four days,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s first on the list?” 

“Invitations,” Sully said without hesitation. “If we can’t get in, the rest of it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

Nate frowned, thinking. “You’ve gotta know somebody here who can pull some strings,” he said. That was more or less how Sully got through life, by knowing someone friendly (or at least, not actively hostile) wherever he landed. “What about, uh, what’s-her-name, Paola? Is she still--”

“Oh, no.” Sully shook his head vigorously. “I don’t know if she’s still in the city. If we’re lucky, she’s not. Trust me, kid, she is _not_ gonna help us.”

“It was a long time ago!”

“I hear she holds a grudge.”

Elena let out a sigh, the kind that only seemed to appear when Nate and Sully’s shady pasts were proving to be an inconvenience. “Who is this and what did you do her?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” Nate said immediately. “This was all Sully. I was barely seventeen at the time.” Sully took the lead on their jobs, back then, and he’d left Nate in the dark on that one.

Sully waved a dismissive hand. “Paola Duarte,” he said. “Long story short, I sold her some silver idols that weren’t quite as old as I told her they were. Or as silver.” Elena rolled her eyes. “She probably won’t remember me,” Sully continued. “But I’d rather not remind her by knocking on her door and asking for help.”

“Right,” Elena said, shaking her head. “Other options?”

Nate idly tapped his fingers on his leg, his gaze drifting across the table. He stared blankly at Elena’s notes for a few moments, his mind racing, then he grinned and sat up straight. “You can get us in!” he said, turning to Elena.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I can?”

“Well. Your network can,” he said. “Tell them it’s for your story and have them send you the money for the invites.” They'd need to use false names on the invitations, of course, but they could worry about that once they had the money.

Elena opened her mouth, looking like she was about to argue, then stopped. “It’s not a bad idea,” she said after a few moments of thought. “And they’d probably like this a lot more than me charging off to go investigate the mine myself.”

Nate blinked at her. “You were going to--”

“No. Not alone, anyway. But they don’t need to know that.” Elena shook her head. “I can make a case for the two of us,” she said, gesturing at herself and Nate. “But how am I supposed to sell them on a third invite for Sully?”

Nate grinned. “I'm sure you'll think of something,” he said. She’d convinced her network to back her on crazier things. Maybe not quite as expensive—he wasn’t sure what invites to a charity ball went for these days—but definitely crazier.

“Your faith in me is touching,” Elena said drily. She shook her head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“We’ll need a layout of the place,” Sully said. “Blueprints, if we can get ‘em. Fake IDs, clothes, vehicles, equipment…”

“Invites first,” Elena said. “I’ll call today.”

Sully nodded. “Good plan,” he said, then got to his feet. “If you don’t mind handling that, I’m gonna take a nap,” he said. “Didn’t get much rest on the flight down here, unlike _some_ people.”

He mock-glared at Nate, who just grinned. He’d volunteered to take over flying for a stretch, but Sully had turned him down. And it wasn’t his fault that planes made him sleepy. “Go get your beauty sleep,” he said. “We’ll come find you for dinner.”

“Uh-huh.” Sully waved over his shoulder as he headed out into the hall, letting the door fall shut behind him.

As soon as they were alone, Nate turned his attention back to Elena. She was jotting down notes; probably ways to convince her network to spring for three pricey invitations. Nate watched her for a few moments, then reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Elena glanced at him and smiled. A second or two later, she looked over at him again, then shook her head. “No.”

“‘No,’ what?”

“Put the bedroom eyes away,” Elena said, smirking, as she pushed back from the table.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nate grinned, not even bothering to try to cover up the lie. She’d been gone three weeks. He’d missed her, and now they finally had some time alone.

Elena rolled her eyes and took her file back to the others on the bed, seeming determined to ignore him as she shuffled through some papers. Nate followed, standing behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He ducked his head to kiss the side of her neck and smiled against her skin when he felt her take a deep breath. She set the files down and turned to face him. “Nate--”

Whatever she was about to say cut off when he covered her mouth with his. Elena made a startled noise, but then she kissed him back, her body fitting perfectly against him. Nate tilted his head to the side slightly, deepening the kiss, and he almost smiled when he felt her run her hands over his shoulders and down to his chest. She drew back to take a breath, then gently but firmly pushed him away. Nate stumbled back a step; his legs hit the edge of the armchair, and he fell into the seat with a muffled “oof!”

Elena mostly choked back a laugh. “Sorry,” she said, still a little out of breath. “But I really do have work to do.”

“It can wait for an hour, can’t it?” An hour, two hours, maybe the afternoon…

“I was planning on heading out again, but you two turning up in the lobby threw a wrench in that,” she replied as she gathered up her notes. “It’s already waited an hour.” Nate frowned and slumped further into the chair. “Hey, you’re the one who showed up and dumped this whole mess on me,” Elena continued.

Okay, she had a point. Still. “You don’t have anything planned for tonight, do you?” Nate asked.

She zipped up her bag and came back over to him. “I do now,” she replied as she leaned down to give him a kiss. Nate responded eagerly, but Elena still dodged away before he could put his hands on her. “I should be back in a few hours,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Nate sighed. “I’ll be here.” Elena waved over her shoulder at him. The door shut behind her, and Nate spent a few moments frowning at it. Then he pushed himself to his feet and went to get his laptop from his bag. Might as well do something useful with his time. Pricing out the gear they’d need seemed like a good place to start.

*

“Sorry I'm late,” Elena said as she came up to the corner booth Nate and Sully had claimed. The cab ride from San Roque to the restaurant in Bellavista had taken about twice as long as she'd anticipated.

Sully waved off her apology. “The wine just got here,” he said, while Nate slid over so Elena would have room to sit. “Don't worry.”

Nate briefly squeezed her hand, and she gave him a quick smile in return. “Anything on the invitations?” he asked.

Elena nodded. “I managed to convince my manager-- oh, thanks, Sully,” she said as he passed her a full glass of wine. “Convinced him to pay for the invites.” There had been a lot of grumbling about paying for three, but Elena had pointed out that if she'd had her crew with her, they'd be buying the same number. Still, with that much money being spent, the pressure was on to deliver _something_ significant on the Cotterills. “They're wiring me the money. I should have it tomorrow afternoon.”

Nate beamed at her. “I knew you'd talk 'em into it,” he said, then glanced at Sully. “What're we gonna do about IDs?”

“I know a guy,” Sully replied. Elena raised her eyebrows. She'd been hoping for a little more detail than that-- like _how_ , exactly, they were going to get convincing fake IDs created in two or three days.

That appeared to be assurance enough for Nate, though, as he nodded and looked back at her. “Did you find anything--”

Sully held up a hand to stop him. “Let's order first,” he said, glancing at the approaching waiter. “Then we can talk.”

Elena nodded and flipped open her menu. She managed to decide while the guys were ordering, and before long, the waiter had disappeared again. “I looked through some of the Cotterill's other records. About four years ago, they completely renovated their mansion,” she said. “Full gut-rehab. It was a big enough project that it required a building permit.”

“Were there blueprints with the permit?” Sully asked.

“No,” Elena said. “But the name of the architect was.” She pulled her notebook out of her pocket and thumbed it open. “Her office is down in San Roque,” she explained. “I went by there before coming here. Still open for business.”

Sully grinned. “That's our girl,” he said, and Elena couldn't help a pleased smile.

“What'd the place look like?” Nate asked.

“Uh.” Elena shrugged. “It's on the second floor of a four-story building? I just went by to see if the office was still there. Figured I'd let the experts plan a break-in.”

“All right,” Nate said with a chuckle. “Sully and I can scope it out.” He took a sip of wine and nodded at Sully. “We should start looking into vehicles, too. Gonna need a couple cars--”

He cut off abruptly as the waiter led a large, talkative group to the booth beside them. Sully shook his head. “We'll talk about it later,” he said.

Nate nodded. Elena picked up her glass and leaned back in the seat. “So, besides this job of yours, what've you two been up to while I've been gone?” she asked.

“Elena, it sounds like you think we were getting into trouble,” Sully said, grinning.

She smirked at him over the rim of her glass. “I've known you two how long?”

They filled her in on the last few weeks-- surprisingly trouble-free, save for a brief trip to Mexico and a run-in with an 'old business associate' who was none too happy to see them-- and Elena told them about her recent minor adventures across Colombia. The conversation stayed away from the impending robbery, of course, but her investigations didn't come up much, either. It was nice to just relax and focus on something besides her work for a couple hours.

Elena finished the last of her wine and set the glass down, silently debating if she wanted to order coffee. Across the table, Sully checked his watch. “Well, kids, I need to get reacquainted with Barranquilla's night life,” he said, sliding out from the table.

“We're just gonna go back to the hotel,” Nate replied.

“I figured.” Sully smirked. “Nate, we’ll go see that guy about IDs tomorrow?”

Nate nodded. “Bye, Sully,” Elena said. “Have fun.”

Sully waved and headed towards the front of the restaurant. Nate frowned, blinking at the table. “Either he just stuck us with the bill, or he's paying for the whole thing,” he said.

Elena leaned forward, peering towards the front doors. Sure enough, Sully was talking to the maître d' and handing over a small stack of bills. “Second one,” she said. Nate sighed and made a face. Elena patted his arm. “We'll take him out to dinner when we're back home,” she said.

“Might take two or three dinners to even this out,” Nate muttered. Elena rolled her eyes. Sully's insistence on paying for things and Nate's resulting frustration was a long-standing (and shockingly normal) point of contention between them. Before she could say anything in response, Nate bumped his shoulder against hers. “C'mon, let's head back.”

The sidewalks weren't too crowded, a brief lull between the normal dinner hours and the city's nightlife really taking off. Elena grabbed Nate's hand and laced their fingers together as they started in the direction of the hotel. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, and Elena let her attention wander to the shops and restaurants lining the street. She hadn't really had much of a chance to see the city properly. It'd be fun to come back here and play tourist someday. Assuming, of course, there wasn't any kind of warrant out for them by the time they left.

They passed by a jewelry store, shuttered for the night, and Elena shook her head. “I hope that whatever you're getting paid includes expenses,” she said, glancing at Nate. “The clothes alone are going to set us back quite a bit.”

Nate followed her gaze and huffed out a laugh. “No, not getting expenses, but with what we're getting paid, we don't really need it,” he said.

“How much _are_ you getting paid?” Elena asked. Nate quoted a number, and Elena let out a startled breath. “Each?”

“Yeah.”

“For reclaiming some pottery?” Elena asked. “That seems... awfully high.”

Nate shrugged. “The eccentric and wealthy set has been paying my bills for years.”

“Well, that'll cover expenses, easy, even with the jewelry I'll need,” Elena said.

“Oh, you won't have to get any,” he replied. “I didn't think you had any dresses that were right for this, but I did grab some of your jewelry. It's in my bag.”

Nate's chosen career had given him excellent taste in jewelry, so whatever he’d brought would probably be perfectly acceptable for the party. One less thing to worry about—a minor thing, but still. Elena grinned at him. “Look at you, planning ahead.”

“It’s been known to happen on occasion.”

*

Nate sipped at his coffee and glanced out the window, trying to look casual. Across the table from him, Sully heaved a sigh. “Would you relax, kid?” he muttered. “We're tryin' not to look suspicious here, remember?”

“I'm relaxed!” The look Sully gave him was almost pitying, and Nate sighed. Given the last few days, relaxing was something of a challenge. He and Sully had been busy-- getting fake IDs, renting cars, buying staggeringly expensive suits, and somehow finding the time to do recon on the Cotterills' architect, a woman named Luce Machado. Sully had gained a few useful pieces of information from chatting with people at neighboring businesses: first, she worked in her office alone, and second, she had a daily coffee habit.

“When is she supposed to get here?” Nate asked.

Sully glanced at his watch. “The kid at the register said she comes by every afternoon,” he replied.

Nate sighed. ‘Afternoon’ was a pretty broad target. He'd been here since eleven-thirty, reading, sketching, and trying to make each cup of coffee last as long as possible so he wouldn't have to keep buying more. It was closing in on three-thirty, though, and Nate was almost done with his fourth cup. “Did you talk to that guy about the cars again?”

“We’re all set,” Sully said. He grinned. “Wait’ll you see the one we’re showing up in.”

Nate shrugged. He’d never had much interest in cars, beyond their ability to get him from Point A to Point B. Reasonably bullet-proof was a nice bonus. “Elena’s got her dress, and she's picking up the invitations today,” he said, mentally ticking things off as he leaned back in his chair.“Apparently last-minute invitations paid for in cash aren't all that unusual.”

“Do we even know what charity this is supposed to sponsor?” Sully asked with a smirk.

“Saving the rainforests or something,” Nate replied. He was pretty sure the money wouldn't go any further than the Cotterills' bank account. It felt sorta wrong, paying someone for the ability to rob them. At least it wasn't his money. And besides, if Elena was right, that money might end up going towards legal fees and not a new yacht.

Sully snorted, clearly sharing Nate's skepticism. He looked towards the window, then did a double-take. “That's her,” he muttered. Nate got to his feet and grabbed his cup. “Good luck,” Sully said.

“You, too.” Nate tossed his nearly empty cup in the trash and kept going, walking towards the back of the cafe. The restrooms were that way, which was probably why no one tried to stop him. There was also a service door at the end of the hall, and Nate walked straight through and out into the alley.

The plan was pretty straightforward: Sully would strike up a conversation with Machado at the cafe and keep her there while Nate broke into the office and grabbed the blueprints. They only had one shot at this. The party was tomorrow night, and Nate didn’t like their odds of success if they went in blind. Nate circled around the cafe and hurried across the street. Sully would be fine. This was his area of expertise, after all.

The alley behind Machado's office was narrow and, for the moment, empty. Nate glanced up at the building. No fire escape on this side, but plenty of drainage pipes, and the second-floor window was cracked slightly. He grinned. Perfect. He flipped the lid of a nearby dumpster down, climbed on top, and jumped for the first pipe.

The pipes were old and hadn't been designed to support the weight of a fully grown man even when they'd been new. Nate moved fast, hopping from handhold to handhold, jumping away before the metal could do much more than creak alarmingly. It didn't take long to reach the window, and he quickly glanced around to make sure no one had wandered into the alley. Still empty. Lucky him. He grabbed the windowsill with one hand and braced his feet against the wall, then pushed the window up. It clearly hadn't been opened more than a few inches in years; it ground slowly upwards, squealing in protest. Nate put a little more force into it, and the window pane suddenly shot upwards, slamming open and throwing him off balance. He grabbed at the ledge and let out a sigh. “Shit.”

After that, getting in the window was easy. Nate brushed off his hands as he looked around the room. This was Machado's workspace, going by the drafting table and computer and sheer clutter. “Guess it was too much to hope she'd have them in neat little boxes,” he muttered. He didn't even know where to start. Hopefully Sully would keep her interested in coffee for a while.

He looked through the blueprints and other stacks of paper as carefully as he could. It looked like a mess to him, but Machado probably had her own system, and he didn't want her to realize anything was missing right away. Not that he found anything he needed to take. None of the blueprints lying around had dates older than six months.

“Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, and turned to the door. Maybe she had archives somewhere? Or... he looked back at the computer. Right. That probably would've been a good place to start.

The monitor was black, but returned to the desktop when Nate tapped the spacebar. He'd just typed 'Cotterill' into the file search when he heard the front door open. “Oh, shit.”

The front door closed, followed by the sound of a woman talking, then the familiar rumble of Sully's laugh. Okay, so, she'd brought Sully back to the office. If he could keep her up front, Nate might actually be able to pull this off. He glanced back at the screen and grinned. The search had pulled up several documents, all with the Cotterills' name.

Now he just had to get them off the computer. He couldn't exactly send an e-mail, and printing them off would take too much time and make too much noise. Nate glanced at the door again, then started easing open desk drawers, hoping for a CD or flash drive or something.

He struck gold in the bottom drawer: a small cardboard box full of flash drives, each one printed with Machado's name and logo. She wouldn't even notice one missing. Nate plugged the drive in and quickly copied the files. Sully and Machado were still chatting outside; it sounded like Sully was speaking a little louder than normal so Nate could hear him.

The files finished copying, and Nate yanked out the drive and shoved it in his pocket, then quickly closed out of the search window. Couldn't get the screensaver back up, but maybe his luck would hold and Sully would keep her distracted long enough for it to come back.

No sooner did the thought cross his mind than he heard footsteps outside, moving closer. Nate dove for the open window and scrambled out, wincing when he banged his knee on the frame. He braced himself on the wall again and reached up to pull the window down. It wound up a few inches higher than when he'd come in, but it would have to do. Nate started picking his way down the drainage pipes again. They creaked ominously under his weight, but against all odds, he made it safely to the ground.

“Huh.” Nate blinked up at the building, then shrugged. “That went well,” he muttered, and for once, it wasn’t sarcastic. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he headed for the street. The flash drive was still safely tucked away, and as he couldn’t help a satisfied grin as he turned onto the sidewalk. Tomorrow night was gonna go off without a hitch.


	2. The Heist

Nate scowled at his reflection in the mirror and tugged the half-formed knot out of his tie. This was ridiculous. He straightened the tie out and started again. Over, around, under... something... “Dammit.”

“Having problems?” Elena called from the bathroom.

“I'm fine,” Nate replied with a sigh. This was why he never wore ties. Sully had taught him how to tie one, at some point in the distant past, but the lesson hadn't really stuck. He hadn't even bothered with one at his own wedding.

Elena poked her head around the doorway and rolled her eyes. “Let me get that,” she said and stepped into the room.

Nate's jaw dropped. “Wow,” he said, staring, as Elena turned him to face her. She didn't get dressed up very often; they'd gone to a couple of parties for her job that had merited dresses, but this was on a whole other level. Her gown was floor-length, strapless, and a kind of shimmery blue. She'd done something complicated with her hair, too, braided it and pinned it back.

Elena blushed a little as she fussed with his tie. “You clean up pretty nice too,” she said and tapped her fingers under his chin. Nate obediently tilted his head back so she could finish with the tie.

“Why do you know how to do this better than I do?” Nate asked.

“My first boyfriend in college was in a business fraternity,” she explained. “They did a lot of formal events. He didn't know how to tie a tie either, and I got sick of being fifteen minutes late to everything, so I learned how to do it for him.”

“Sounds like you have a type.”

She chuckled. “Apparently.” Elena patted his chest and stepped back. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Nate turned back to the mirror to straighten out the tie, then pulled on his vest. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Elena put on her jewelry-- silver earrings, a bracelet that he'd lifted from Marlowe's creepy underground lair, and a silver-and-diamond pendant. That last one seemed to give her some trouble, as she fumbled with the clasp behind her neck. “Want some help?” he offered.

Elena sighed. “Yes.”

Nate stepped up behind her and took the ends of the necklace from her hand. It took a couple tries, but he managed to get the clasp hooked. “There,” he murmured, then on a whim, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. She laughed, and he smiled against her skin before stepping away.

She sat down on the edge of the bed to slip on her shoes, and he pulled on his jacket-- a bit heavier than normal, what with the gear hidden inside. Sully had a friend in Aruba who apparently made a living doing tailoring for the criminal class, and he hadn't even hesitated when Sully had called and told him what they needed. Apparently lots of people needed to be able to commit felonies while wearing a suit. “How's it look?” Nate said, turning to face Elena and holding out his arms.

She gave him a critical once-over, then stepped forward and smoothed out one of the pockets. “Turn around?” Nate did so, and waited for Elena to say something.

When the silence stretched out a little too long, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You're just staring at my ass now, aren't you.”

“Yep,” Elena said, grinning. “Everything looks fine. I'm pretty sure the only way anyone would notice is if they hugged you.”

“Well, you'll just have to intervene if that's about to happen.” Nate slipped on his watch-- a loan from Sully-- and looked himself over in the mirror again. He actually looked pretty good. “You ready?”

Elena thumbed her purse open and peered at the contents. “Invitations, phone, fake ID, radio earpiece, tranquilizer gun... Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be.”

Nate chuckled. “Then let's go,” he said, grabbing the nearly empty duffel bag from the dresser. They were still checked in at their original hotel for another two nights, but their bags were all in the car, since they wouldn't be coming back to either hotel. Nate was trying not to think about how much this all cost. Yeah, the promised payout would cover it all and then some, but he did want to be able to take a decent chunk home. Maybe pay for a week-long trip for two on a beach somewhere.

Sully was waiting for them when they reached the lobby, lounging in one of the chairs and fiddling his fingers in the way that Nate knew meant he wanted a cigar. He grinned and got to his feet when they walked over. “You look great,” he said, smiling at Elena, then glanced at Nate. “And I guess you're presentable.”

“Good enough for me,” Nate said with a grin. “Shall we?”

The car Sully had arranged for them technically counted as a four-seater, assuming that whoever was riding in the back didn't mind having their chin and their knees in very close company. Before Nate or Sully could volunteer to suffer with being folded nearly in half, Elena climbed into the back and settled in with her legs on the seat beside her. “Just don't get in any car accidents,” she said as Sully slid into the driver's seat. “I can't exactly wear a seat belt like this.”

Nate stowed the duffel bag in the trunk with the rest of their luggage—it was a good thing they all traveled light, or it would never have fit-- and hopped in the passenger seat. He waited until the car was in motion to speak up again. “Sully, the van's in place?”

“Yep.” Sully nodded and patted his pocket. “I've got the keys already.”

“Okay, so, just to make sure we're clear,” Nate said. They'd gone over the plan half a dozen times already, but if he was going to go to the trouble of actually making a plan, then by God, he was gonna do his best to see it through. “We get in, we wait for the Cotterills to show up, Sully and I head for the basement--”

“And hope the artifacts are actually down there and not on display,” Elena added.

Nate nodded and continued. “--Elena heads for the study, Sully and I get the relics to the van, Sully drives away, Elena and I pretend to enjoy the party for another hour or two before making our escape.”

“And then we all meet up in Puerto Colombia,” Sully finished. “I still don't like the part where I'm the one who has to leave the party early,” he grinned as Nate rolled his eyes, “but I got it.”

Nate glanced in the rearview mirror at Elena, who gave him a thumbs-up. He let out a quiet breath and nodded to himself. No going back now.

*

The party was already in full swing by the time they walked through the gates. Light and music spilled out from the windows, and half a dozen cars filled the driveway, each one probably worth four times as much as the one Sully had parked on the street. Elena took a deep breath, readying herself for an hour of polite smiles and inane conversation. She'd been at more than a few parties like this in her career, usually tailing after some politician.

“Here we go,” Nate muttered beside her, and she could feel him tensing up from where their arms were linked. She glanced sideways at him and sighed; he was almost glaring at the front doors, the expression on his face better suited to facing a firing squad than a ritzy party.

Elena lightly elbowed Nate in the side, then leaned in to stage-whisper to him. “I give it fifteen minutes before Sully's picked up a woman half his age,” she said. “You want the over or the under?”

“I can _hear_ you,” Sully said from her other side. “And I have to say, I'm offended.”

“That she thinks it'll take fifteen minutes?” Nate replied with a grin. He still looked uncomfortable, but not so much that he was going to attract attention.

Sully chuckled. “Exactly.”

A cluster of security guards waited by the front doors; Elena guessed they were supposed to be undercover, but the cheap suits did little to conceal the pistols at their hips. She extracted her arm from Nate’s and pulled out their invitations, handing them over with a smile. Now to find out if those fake IDs had been worth the money—

The guard barely looked at the invitations. “Go on in,” he said, dropping the invitations into a nearby box. Elena blinked. Apparently they could've saved her network some money and just forged the invites. Then again, if they'd tried that, no doubt the guard would have actually been paying attention. The other two guards opened the doors for them; Nate held his arm out to Elena again, and Sully led the way inside, probably wanting to disappear into the crowd before the guards could have second thoughts.

Once inside, the renovations became painfully obvious. While the outside of the mansion was classic 1920s, the interior had been remodeled to something far more modern. Glass, chrome, and sharp angles defined the décor, only interrupted by occasional display cases holding artifacts from a dozen disparate places and times. Most of the partygoers were broken up into small groups, people who knew each other gravitating together and conversing in a variety of languages. A few people looked towards the doors when the three of them entered, but otherwise, no one paid them much mind.

Nate made a pained sound as he eyed the interior design with ill-concealed dismay. “Don’t start,” Elena warned.

“This place was probably really nice, five years ago,” he grumbled.

Elena couldn’t help a smirk. He wasn’t _wrong_. “Let’s get somewhere a little less central?”

Sully nodded. “Ballroom’s this way,” he said, gesturing at an open door. “Might as well see what kind of drinks we paid for.”

There was a full-service bar at the back of the ballroom, Elena recalled from the blueprints, as she and Nate trailed after Sully as they made their way through the room. There was a string quartet playing in one corner of the room, and most of the floor was cleared for dancing. That gave them the perfect excuse to skirt around the edges of the room and walk past a handful of display cases. None of them held the missing Incan pottery, much to Elena’s relief. She really didn’t want to find out what kind of plan Nate would improvise to steal the relics from the middle of a crowded ballroom.

Before long, they’d reached the bar and gotten their drinks. Elena sipped her wine and stole a sidelong glance at Nate, who was lounging against the bar and scanning the room, his glass dangling loosely in his fingers. Maybe she needed to stop avoiding the big company parties her network held. It’d be nice to have an excuse to get him into a suit again. And then, of course, get him out of it later.

She smirked to herself and took another drink. “How long until the hosts put in an appearance?” Sully asked.

Elena shook her head. “From what I picked up, they usually spend the first hour, hour and a half with their ‘special guests,’” meaning people who’d made extra donations, “giving them a tour or whatever.” That was why they had to wait until the Cotterills actually showed up at the party to make their move. The last thing they needed was to run into the hosts while trying to rob them.

Nate checked his watch and sighed. “So another half hour, at least.”

“Yeah.”

The quartet finished up one song, and in the brief pause before they began the next, Sully elbowed Nate in the side. “What?” Nate asked. Sully just shot a significant look at Elena, then looked back at Nate. Elena rolled her eyes. She had a feeling she knew where this was going. Nate shook his head slightly. “What?” he repeated.

Sully heaved a sigh. “Aren’t you going to ask your wife to dance?”

Nate snorted and turned to Elena. “You wanna dance?”

“Nope.” She didn’t really like dancing much; she knew how, sort of, but it wasn’t something she’d ever really looked forward to. Nate claimed he couldn’t dance and had refused to elaborate further when she’d asked.

Sully shook his head, looking disappointed in them both. “Suit yourselves,” he muttered and drained his glass. “I’m gonna go prove Elena wrong.”

“Less than fifteen minutes?” Nate asked with a grin.

Sully just smirked and swaggered off. Elena kept an eye on the crowd, and less than a minute later, she spotted Sully leading a smiling young woman to the dance floor. “Am I the only woman he’s ever met who’s been immune to his charms?” she asked.

“Nah,” Nate said. “You’re just in a very exclusive club.”

“You should introduce me to the others, then. We’ll have jackets made.”

He laughed and shook his head. They stood there in comfortable silence, watching the rest of the party, until the current song finished. Sully and his current dance partner stepped off the dance floor together; he kissed the back of her hand, then walked back to Nate and Elena alone. “Only one dance?” Nate asked as he approached. “You’re losing your touch.”

Sully waved off the jab. “You two do realize that playing wallflower looks pretty suspicious, right?”

Nate gestured at a small cluster of people at the other end of the bar. “They’re not dancing.”

“Yeah, but they’re talking to people,” Sully said. “Somebody’s gonna strike up a conversation with you sooner or later.”

Elena sighed. “He’s got a point,” she said and set down her glass. Normally, at parties like this, she didn’t mind talking to people—in fact, she was usually the one starting up conversations. But that was for her job, trying to get information for a story. Chatting with some random strangers here might mean that they’d be remembered later, when the police got involved. That was the last thing any of them needed.

Nate shot her a look that was verging on betrayal, but he put his glass on the bar too. “Not sure what’s going to attract more attention,” he muttered as they walked to the dance floor. “Talking to people, or looking like an idiot where everyone can see.”

“Look at it this way,” Elena said, putting her hands on Nate’s shoulder and waist. “People expect thieves to be suave and graceful. If you trip over your own feet, they’ll be less likely to think you’re involved.”

“Thanks.”

It was a slow song, fortunately, so it was a little easier to pretend like they knew what they were doing. Elena only had to remind Nate that he was supposed to be leading a couple times, and he only stepped on her foot once. As far as first dances went, it could’ve been worse.

So Elena was a little confused when Nate suddenly tensed, his fingers tightening on her shoulder, as he stared at something behind her. “Nate?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced back at her. “Um,” he said. “You remember that story Sully told about conning a woman into buying some silver idols?”

“Yeah,” Elena said. Nate shot a significant look over her head, then looked down at her again. Elena blinked. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah. She’s here.”

Elena let out a slow breath. “Well, it’s not like she’ll recognize _you_ , at least,” she said. “You’ve changed a bit since age seventeen.”

He snorted. “A bit,” he muttered and shook his head. “She’ll recognize Sully, though. He needs to make himself scarce.”

She glanced around the dance floor. No sign of him. “We’ll track him down once the song ends.”

Nate sighed but didn’t argue. His attention stayed on Paola, which meant he wasn’t thinking about pretending he knew how to dance. Elena just kept an eye out for Sully and tried to avoid getting stepped on too often.

As soon as the song ended, Elena took Nate’s hand and led him off the dance floor, back towards the bar. “We need to find Sully,” she said, scanning the crowd again. She thought she caught sight of him on the far side of the room, but there was no way to get his attention from here. “C'mon,” she said, tilting her head in his direction. “I think I saw him--”

“Pardon me,” a Spanish-accented, female voice said from Nate's other side. “Do I know you? Because you certainly seem to think you know me.”

A look of sheer panic flashed across Nate's face before he plastered on a smile and turned to face the petite, elegantly dressed woman staring up at him. She looked about Sully's age, and Elena was willing to bet that her jewelry alone was worth more than Elena's annual salary. “Ah, no, sorry,” he lied. Badly. Elena tried not to cringe. “I, uh, I thought you were someone else.”

Paola raised an eyebrow. “And who did you think I was?” she asked. “It's rather surprising that you'd be staring at another woman when you have such a lovely dance partner.” She nodded in Elena's direction and gave her a brief smile. Elena automatically smiled back, even as she tried to figure out how to salvage the situation.

Before she could say anything, Sully edged out of the crowd on Paola's other side. “There you are,” he said. “What, only one dance?” Paola's expression went cold, and Elena could only watch as she turned around to face Sully. Sully blinked, momentarily startled, but he recovered quickly enough. “Who's your friend?” he asked, directing the question to Nate.

“Don't play dumb with me, Victor Sullivan,” Paola said. “You know damn well who I am.”

Elena shot a look at Nate; he shrugged helplessly. Great. “Sorry, I think you're mistaken,” Sully said.

“I know I'm not,” she replied. “I don't forget the face of the man who stole ten thousand dollars from me.”

Ten _thousand_ \-- oh, shit. Sully had neglected to mention that little detail. “I didn't steal anything, Paola,” Sully replied, as soothingly as possible. “It was a fair sale--”

“You're not conning me again, Sullivan,” Paola snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I know who you are, and I know you're up to no good. Mark my words, as soon as I find Georgia, she'll be hearing about this.”

Elena managed to internalize her wince. Paola might have just been name dropping, but if she had the money for Sully to have swindled her out of ten grand, it wasn't much of a stretch to think that she and the Cotterills moved in the same circles. They needed to defuse this situation fast. “Hear about what?” Elena asked. “You're the one making unfounded accusations towards my friend.”

Paola narrowed her eyes at her. “Men like him don't have friends,” she said. “He's up to something. And either you're involved, or you're about to be victims. Either way, you should leave.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Elena said evenly.

Paola shook her head and looked back at Sully. “You won't get away with this,” she said, then spun on her heel and stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Sully let out a breath. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said with a smile.

She wasn't about to fall for his charm, either. “Ten thousand dollars?” Elena hissed. “No wonder she's still pissed!”

He spread his hands in silent apology. “Look, she wants us to leave,” Nate said, coming to Sully's defense. “We'll be doing what she wants. Y'know, sort of.”

Elena shook her head. “You two should get out of here,” she murmured. “Sneak out, find somewhere to lay low until the Cotterills show up.”

Nate frowned. “What about you?”

“I'll keep an eye on things here,” she said. “Let you know if the guards come looking for you or anything. My part of things won't take as long, anyway.”

“Right.” Nate nodded. “Good luck.”

Elena reached out and squeezed his fingers briefly. “You, too.”

Nate smiled at her, then turned to Sully. “Let's go.”

“Yeah.” They turned and headed off into the crowd, taking a meandering route towards the doors. Elena sighed and leaned against the bar, trying to look relaxed. With any luck, everything else would go smoothly... but she was pretty sure they didn't have that kind of luck.

*

“'I hear she holds a grudge,'” Nate muttered under his breath as he crept down the stairs after Sully. “Made off with ten thousand dollars and you _think_ she might hold a grudge.”

Ahead of him, Sully sighed. “You're not gonna let this go, are you?”

"Depends on whether or not she gets us caught.”

Sully shook his head. “She was probably just blowing smoke,” he said. “I doubt she's best friends with our gracious hosts.”

He didn't sound terribly confident. Nate frowned and opened his mouth to reply as they reached the landing, but Sully held up a hand to stop him. He waited while Sully peered around the corner and down the stairs. As soon as Sully gave the all-clear, though, he continued. “I'm not trusting anything you say about her. You are the _worst_ judge of character.”

Sully just rolled his eyes and put his ear to the door, listening for movement on the other side, then carefully eased it open. “Which way?” he asked as they slipped into the hall. The basement apparently hadn't been treated to the same appalling interior design as the rest of the mansion; the plaster walls and worn hardwood floors were dimly lit by antique-style bulbs, leaving plenty of shadows and blind spots.

Nate glanced up and down the hall, comparing it to his mental image of the blueprints, then pointed left. “This way.”

They'd made it down the first hallway and around the corner when his earpiece crackled. “Guys?” Elena's staticky voice asked quietly.

“Hey,” Nate replied, just as soft. “You make it out?”

“Yeah. I didn't get a chance to see if Sully's friend knew Georgia, but let's not count out the possibility.”

Nate shot a triumphant look over his shoulder at Sully, who rolled his eyes. “Okay. We're about halfway there. Let us know when you--”

“What? No, no, I can't do that,” Elena said abruptly, her voice back at normal volume. Nate stopped in his tracks, blinking in bewilderment. What the hell was she talking about? “That isn't going to work, I-- Excuse me, I'm in the middle of a call--”

There was an indistinct male voice in the background, too muffled for Nate to make out the words. He turned around to face Sully as the situation became clear. One of the guards must have found Elena. Shit. “Elena, do you need help?” he asked.

“Yes, I know the party's back there, but it seemed rude to take a call in the middle of the ballroom,” Elena said irritably. “Now will you let me finish my call, or--” The guard cut in, and Elena heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine. I'll have to call you back.”

There were some rustling noises, presumably as Elena took out her earpiece. “Elena, wait-- dammit.” Nate looked at Sully. “We should go back up there.”

Sully shook his head. “Not yet. Let's just... wait and see if she comes back.”

Seconds dragged by, punctuated by more rustling and the faint click of shoes on tile. After about thirty seconds, there was a brief burst of static, then Elena heaved a sigh. “Damn.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm great,” she said. “Those tranquilizer guns work like a charm, by the way.”

Nate beamed. “Nice work.”

“Yeah. And now I get to drag a security guard into a closet while wearing heels,” she grumbled.

That didn't sound fun. “Be careful,” Nate said.

“You, too.”

There was another burst of static as, presumably, Elena switched off her earpiece. Nate shook his head and peered down the hall. It was empty save for a pair of identical oak doors, evenly spaced from the ends of the hallway. “C'mon,” he said and went straight for the more distant of the two.

“This it?” Sully asked.

“Yeah.” If he was recalling the blueprints right. If not, they could snag a few bottles of wine as a consolation prize.

Sully nodded and pulled a small flashlight out of his jacket, aiming it at the edges of the door. Nate stepped back to keep watch. After a few minutes, Sully straightened up from his crouch and grimaced, then lightly rapped his gloved knuckles against the door. “Hm,” he said. “Reinforced?”

“Yeah, I think with steel plates.” He'd spent most of last night reviewing the blueprints, until Elena told him to turn off the laptop and go to sleep already. “There's an alarm, too. It'll sound if we don't have the key.”

“Well, we should probably avoid that.” Sully clicked off the flashlight. “Pretty sure we could force it, with a little effort.”

Nate nodded. “Then let's go find a circuit breaker.”

*

Elena crept down the hall, trying not to wince at the feeling of cold tile against her bare feet. She'd pulled off her heels in the process of hauling the security guard into an empty room; with any luck, no one would find him until the party was over. She'd grabbed his radio, too, so at least if someone did find him, she'd have a little advance warning. “Third door on the right,” she murmured under her breath. “Please don't be locked...”

She stopped outside the door, straining to hear any movement or voices on the other side. The only sound was the distant echo of conversation and music from downstairs. She took a deep breath and slowly tried the knob; it turned easily under her hand, and she cast a final glance around the hall before slipping into the dimly lit room.

It was done in the same style as the rest of the house, with black leather and chrome armchairs sitting in front of the sleek glass desk. Given how clean the décor was, the sheer amount of clutter covering the desk was a surprise. That's what they got for not having drawers, Elena thought as she rounded the desk to examine the papers. The first pile seemed to be dealing mostly with the evening's gala, caterers and musicians and donations.

The next stack of papers were all marked with the Abeja mines logo. Elena smiled briefly. Perfect. She dropped her shoes on the desk chair, then fished her phone out of her bag, glancing between the papers and the screen as she pulled up the camera. She didn't dare steal any of the documents, but she could take pictures. They'd made several new hires recently, and as Elena carefully looked through the papers, she noted that everyone who'd actually gotten a job at the mine had a criminal record. And all of them had been put on the mine's security detail.

“Okay, that's not good.” She snapped several photos of the documents, then grabbed a pen and a clean sheet of paper from the printer to scribble down notes. Names, hire dates, the nature of the criminal records... all of them had done time for violent crimes, and a few had been accused of murder. The fact that the Cotterills were hiring thugs to run security on the mine was worrying, but it wasn't enough. Elena could make a guess that their new staff might be responsible for the dead miners. She couldn't prove it. And she needed proof.

Probably too much to ask for them to have an itemized list of the deaths and the people responsible for them. Elena shook her head and moved to the next pile of documents. The top sheets were printouts on emerald grade measurements, including glossy photographs of emeralds with incomprehensible notes scribbled around the edges. Not a surprising thing to find on a mine owner's desk, Elena supposed. She photographed the documents anyway; there might be something of interest in those notes, if she could decipher them.

She almost missed the folded sheet tucked underneath the grade notes. It was a list of names and phone numbers, most of which had been scribbled out-- some with considerable anger, going by the torn paper. Most of the names were still legible, though, and Elena recognized a few as names she'd run across when she'd been looking into black market dealers, before she'd stumbled across the deaths at the mine. She copied down the names and numbers she could read. More leads to follow up on.

There was only one stack of papers left on the desk. She cast a cautious glance at the door before starting to flip through the pages. Leads were good, but they weren’t enough.

*

“Could you hurry it up, kid?” Sully muttered from his place near the door.

Nate frowned at the fuse box. “Do you really want me to just guess?” he asked. “If I throw the wrong one and kill the power in the ballroom--”

“You've been standing there for almost ten minutes.” Sully shot him a look. “I've seen you break into ancient tombs in less time.”

Nate shrugged. Tombs guarded by puzzles written in dead languages were one thing; deciphering someone else's shorthand was another. It would've helped if the electrician had halfway decent handwriting. Nate shook his head and flipped the breaker labeled 'alm.' At least, he was pretty sure that's what those letters were.

Nothing noticeably changed, and it didn't sound like anyone upstairs was panicking because the lights had gone out. Nate glanced at Sully and shrugged. “Let’s go take a look.”

The door looked equally unchanged when they reached it. Nate tried the handle, just in case. Still locked. “Couldn’t have been that easy,” he muttered and reached into his jacket for a screwdriver. It took a couple tries, but he managed to wedge the flat edge between the door and the brass plate that served as a base for the handle. It wasn’t exactly a finesse job, but he’d managed to have a reasonably successful criminal career without ever learning to pick a lock. No reason to change now.

After a couple minutes of trying to pry the plate loose, Nate let go and shook out his hands. “Damn,” he muttered. “Wish we’d brought a crowbar.”

Sully snorted. “Want me to give it a shot?”

“Nah, I’ve almost got it.” He glanced up and down the hallway, then went back to applying brute force to the problem.

It took another minute before he felt the handle start to give way. “There we go,” he muttered, shifting his weight to pull the brass plate clear off the door. There was a loud crack as the handle snapped off. Nate stumbled back and barely managed to catch himself on the far wall. “Shit, kid, you okay?” Sully asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, waving Sully off. His dignity, on the other hand, might not survive Sully fussing over him. “Check the door?”

Sully gave him a look, but went to fiddle around with the freshly exposed lock. “Guess I shouldn’t expect subtle out of you, after all this time,” he said.

“I can be subtle!” Nate protested.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” There was a click, and Sully pushed the door open. “Voila. Let’s hope the pottery’s actually in here.”

Nate followed Sully into the dark room, swapping out the screwdriver for a flashlight as he did so. He swept the beam across the room and stopped dead in his tracks. “Holy crap.”

It had been one thing to read the size of the room on the blueprints; actually seeing it was something else. There was a small landing just inside the door, then stairs that descended eight feet or so to the floor. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, standing at least eighteen feet high, and as Nate carefully made his way down the stairs, his flashlight picked out row after row of artifacts, sculptures and daggers and jewelry all glittering dully under layers of dust.

“What a waste,” Nate muttered. The Cotterills could start a small museum with what they had in their collection, and it was just left to rot in the dark. Of course, that meant that they probably wouldn't miss it if he liberated a couple things. Nate swept the beam along the shelves and smirked. He was almost spoiled for choice here.

Sully swore under his breath. “It's gonna take forever to find the vases in all this,” he said.

Right. The job. Nate stepped closer to the shelves and looked from left to right. “Hmm.” He walked to the rightmost shelf, leaning in, then sneezed at the dust. “I think,” he began, slowly walking towards the left side of the room, “they sort things by when they got them.” Not by region or time period or anything logical. This wasn't about the history; it was about showing off. He sighed, and sneezed again. Stupid dust.

“So if the pottery's new...” Sully walked to the left side of the room, sweeping the shelves with the flashlight's beams. Nate followed a few paces behind and peered at the various relics. If nothing else, the pottery would stand out for how plain it was. The one unifying factor in the collection seemed to be shininess.

“Hey, kid, c'mere.”

Nate trotted over to Sully. “I don't see them anywhere else,” he said and pointed at a pair of wooden crates, tucked back into a shadowy corner at the very top of a set of mostly empty shelves. “Wanna bring down those crates and check?”

“Sure. Here.” Nate handed Sully his flashlight, then reached up and experimentally tugged at one of the shelves. They were pretty solid, and with the shelving bolted into the floor and ceiling, he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to knock it over. Still, he tried to be careful as he climbed up to the top shelf. “Hmm.” Bracing himself with one arm, he slowly turned the first crate until he spotted a handle. “Hopefully these have decent padding,” he muttered. He grabbed the handle and swung the crate off the shelf, holding it one-handed as he began his descent. It was heavy, and he could hear something inside shifting around, but luckily, nothing broke.

Sully grabbed the crate as soon as Nate was low enough. “Got it,” he said, setting it on the ground as Nate finished climbing down. The lid had been screwed on; Nate cast a worried glance at the door, even as he and Sully set to work with their screwdrivers. If this didn't hold the vases, they were wasting precious time.

A few minutes later, they had the lid off. The crate was full of paper and cotton padding; Nate felt around until his hand hit something solid.

“There you are,” he said with a grin, lifting out one of the small vases. Sully’s flashlight illuminated the carved images as Nate turned it over in his hands. It was in nearly perfect condition—no wonder the buyer had been willing to pay so much… Nate’s thoughts trailed off as he frowned at the pottery. Something wasn’t right. The weight felt off, and the vase didn’t sound as hollow as he expected when he tapped his fingers against the side. Not to mention that it didn’t look nearly worn enough to have been six hundred years old.

“Nate?” Sully asked. “Those are them, right?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, they have to be, but…”

“But what?”

“Something’s not right.” Nate raised his own flashlight and tried to peer inside the vase.

Sully heaved a sigh. “Oh, no, you are not doing this again.”

“Doing what?”

“We are _not_ gonna stand here and get caught because you need to play with things right now.” Sully snatched the vase from Nate’s hand and returned it to the crate. Nate started to protest, but Sully talked over him. “You can figure out what’s weird at the hotel. Get the other box and let’s _go_.”

Nate scowled and started back up the shelves. He grabbed at the second crate-- it was farther back in the corner, and it took a couple tries before he managed to reach the handle. The shelf under his left foot creaked as he dragged the crate closer, and he shifted his weight more to his right leg. “There we go,” he muttered and pulled the crate off the shelf.

That was when the right-hand shelf snapped clean in two.

Nate had just enough time to think _oh crap_ before instinct took over. He pulled the crate up against his chest-- he'd heal from a fall, but the pottery wouldn't-- and tried to twist around in mid-air so he'd land on his side. But there wasn't enough time, and instead he landed hard on his right foot. There was a sickening crunching feeling, then the pain hit and Nate toppled over.

Sully caught him before he hit the floor and eased him into a sitting position against the shelves. “Jesus, kid” he muttered, taking the crate from Nate's arms and setting it aside. “You all right?”

“Never better,” Nate said through clenched teeth. He leaned forward and prodded at his ankle experimentally-- not broken, but that was probably a pretty bad sprain. “Crap.”

“Can you walk?”

“Don't have a choice.” Nate held out his hand, and Sully pulled him to his feet. Nate tested putting weight on his right leg and winced. He could walk on it, but it hurt like hell.

He'd live. “C'mon,” he said, gesturing at the crates. “Let's get outta here.”

*

Elena folded up her sheet of notes and slid her phone back into her purse, glancing from the papers to the door. She'd found reports on the dead miners, names and dates of employments and next-of-kin, but each and every report listed the deaths as accidents. The fact that the reports had all been submitted through the new staff might give her an angle, but the proof of a cover-up wasn't here.

She had found something that was a far more immediate concern, though. She leaned against the wall for balance as she slipped her shoes back on and clicked on her earpiece. “Guys? Can you talk?”

There was a brief pause before Sully replied. “Yeah, Elena. How's it going?”

She huffed out a laugh. “Uh, we have a problem,” she said. “Did you know--” The rest of her question cut off as the guard's radio crackled to life. Elena paused, one shoe on, the other dangling from her fingers, and reached for the radio.

“Elena?” Nate's voice sounded strained.

“Hang on.” She cocked her head to the side, listening to the staticky, slightly garbled voices. As she worked out what they were saying, her heart dropped. “Oh, no.”

“What's going on, sweetheart?” Sully asked.

Elena shook her head and quickly pulled on her other shoe. “New problem,” she said. She'd tell them what she'd found later. “Did you guys kill the power in the basement or something?”

“Yeah, we did,” Sully confirmed.

“Apparently somebody noticed,” Elena said, heading for the door. “Because the guards are coming your way.”

Nate swore under his breath. “Okay. We're almost out. Elena, you've got spare keys?”

“For the car? Yeah.” She stopped by the study door. Bad idea to go charging out mid-conversation; she needed to focus. “You two gonna head out in the van?”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “Don't stick around, just get to the car. We'll call you when we're clear.”

“Got it.” Elena clicked off her earpiece and turned her attention to the radio. From the sound of it, the guards were all headed to the basement. She switched the radio off, too, and eased the door open. Much as the advance warning would have helped, the last thing she needed was to advertise her presence by having the radio blaring as she snuck through the halls. Her heels would probably do that well enough, she thought, wincing as they clicked against the tile with every step.

Getting back to the ground floor was surprisingly easy; the guards had all been called back to the basement or to the party. Elena came to a stop in the hall outside the ballroom and frowned. She could see a pair of guards standing in front of the closed glass doors, their backs to her, probably stationed there to keep anyone from leaving. She’d attract far too much attention if she tried to get back in. Elena frowned, thinking. The only way back out to the street was through the front gates, and the only door that led to the gates required going back through the party.

That really only left one option. Elena crossed the hall and listened at a closed door before slipping into the same empty room that she’d dumped the guard in. He was right where she’d left him, slumped against the wall in a corner. “Just don’t wake up,” Elena murmured as she crossed the room. “Don’t wake up, and I won’t have to shoot you again.”

She stopped in front of one of the large windows and cautiously peered out. From where she was standing, she had a clear line of sight to the gates. They were still standing open, and there didn’t seem to be any guards nearby. A quick scan of the window didn’t turn up any visible alarms. “Here goes,” Elena muttered and pushed the window open. She glanced around the lawn again, then hiked her skirt up to her knees and awkwardly clambered out onto the grass.

She eased the window shut and started towards the gates, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Halfway there, she stopped and yanked off her heels again. Stupid shoes were going to make her trip and break her neck. Elena paused in the shadow of a large tree and glanced towards the house. The few guards left outside were all clustered around the door, but at this distance, she couldn’t tell if they were looking towards the gate or not.

No choice but to risk it. Elena took a deep breath and walked towards the gates, moving as quickly as she could without actually running. Running looked suspicious. She just had to walk calmly and with purpose, act like she had every right to be there, and she’d be fine.

She was almost through the gate when someone shouted behind her. “ _Hey! Hey, miss, you can’t be out here!_ ”

Shit. Elena sped up and rounded the corner, pulling the keys from her purse as she went. The car was only half a block away. She had to get there before the guard caught up with her. She glanced over her shoulder as the guard shouted again, then gathered up her skirt in one hand and broke into a run. The street was mercifully empty of potential witnesses, and she yanked the car door open just as the sound of approaching footsteps reached her. She threw her shoes and bag onto the passenger seat, and couldn't even be surprised when the contents of her purse spilled across the floor. It was shaping up to be that kind of night.

Elena glanced in the rearview mirror just long enough to see one guard slowing out of a run on the sidewalk. Maybe he was already giving up? She didn't want to stick around to find out. She threw the car into gear and pulled out onto the street. Eventually she'd have to pull over and get her phone so she could look up directions to Puerto Colombia, but for now, she'd gotten away.

Her phone started ringing barely a minute later, before she'd even managed to catch her breath. Elena spared a glance at the screen, but she couldn't make out the name from where she was. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Don't think a car wreck would make this evening any better.”

It rang twice more before she finally reached a stoplight and had a chance to lean over and grab the phone. “Hey, Sully,” she said, answering just before it went to voice mail.

“Elena, thank god,” he said. “I thought they'd got you, too.”

She blinked as the meaning of his words sank in. “Oh, no. Please tell me you're not saying what I think you're--”

Sully's voice was grim. “They caught Nate.”

*

Nate winced, his ankle throbbing painfully, as a pair of guards frog-marched him down the hall. Of course he got caught. He really did have the worst luck sometimes.

It had all happened so fast-- one second, he'd been limping as quickly as he could towards the back door, the next, he'd almost plowed into the security guard who'd stepped out in front of him. There'd been a bit of a scuffle, although Nate had mostly been trying to distract the guards from pursuing Sully than actually escaping. At least Sully had the sense to actually get away, rather than try to come back to rescue Nate right then. If they'd both gotten caught... well, okay, Elena probably still would have freed both of them. If there was anyone in the world who could pull that off, it was his wife. But it'd be easier to mount a rescue with two people.

Now he just had to avoid giving up any information until that rescue came. The guards were heading to a door near the far end of the hall, and as they walked, Nate heard the distant sounds of conversation and music. He wasn't sure if the fact that the party was still going would make getting out easier or harder.

One of the guards pushed the door open, revealing a study done up in the same modern style as the rest of the house. It just made the wooden chair in the middle of the room stand out even more. Nate grunted, more in irritation than anything, when the guards manhandled him into the chair. One of them tore a long strip of duct tape off a roll and started taping his left wrist to the arm of the chair.

“Aw, c'mon, guys,” Nate said. “I paid a lot for this suit.”

“Shut up.”

He sighed. “Guess they didn't hire you for your sparkling wit.”

The guard didn't respond, but he taped Nate's right arm a lot tighter than necessary. Nate winced and flexed his fingers. That could be a problem, if he was stuck here long enough.

The door swung open again, admitting two people who could only be Sebastian and Georgia Cotterill. They looked like they were about ten or fifteen years older than Nate, and both were dressed in clothes that probably cost more than Nate was going to make on this job. Well. Had been going to make. He was pretty sure Delaurent wasn't gonna pay the same amount for half the goods and an apology. Except something had been wrong with the pottery to begin with...

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Sebastian asked, even as the door shut behind him.

Nate blinked. “Uh.”

“The name in the guest log is Nathaniel Marks, but that's most likely a fake,” Georgia said. “We'll find out who you really are soon enough.”

“Right,” Nate said. They'd split up to literally flank him, and Nate had the unsettling feeling that they'd done this before.

“Not that it matters,” Sebastian said, picking up where his wife left off. Yeah. They'd definitely done this before. Nobody got that good at the tag-teaming thing without practice. “We're far more interested in who hired you.”

Nate shrugged and leaned back in the chair, trying to look relaxed. “What makes you think someone hired me?”

“You and your partner only took two crates,” Sebastian said. “Out of all the pieces in our storeroom. If you were working for yourselves, you'd have made off with everything you could carry.”

“Partner?” Nate blinked in what he hoped was innocent confusion. “I'm here alone. I think that other guy was with the caterers.”

Sebastian leveled a near-murderous glare at him. “You really think you're clever, don't you.”

“Yeah, but that's only 'cause it's true.”

The glare went from near to actually murderous. Off to his right, Georgia let out an irritated sigh. “My friend Paola says otherwise,” she said. Nate bit back a curse. Dammit, Sully... “As does the guest log. You arrived with your wife, Eleanor, and a man going by James Connolly, although Paola says his real name is Victor Sullivan. A con man and a thief, apparently.”

She was clearly expecting some kind of response, but there wasn't much Nate could say that wouldn't sound suspicious. So instead he just made an interested “hmm” sound and waited.

Georgia shook her head and shot a look at her husband. “Tell us who hired you,” Sebastian bit out, clearly struggling to keep a lid on his anger.

Nate narrowed his eyes at him. The stakes weren't as high as the last time he'd been in this situation, but he still wasn't inclined to give up anything. He had a reputation to protect, not to mention a desire to not go totally bankrupt on this job. The client wasn't gonna pay if he'd been arrested. He just had to wait for Elena and Sully to show up. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

The backhand slap was hard enough to snap Nate's head to the side. He grimaced, shaking his head to clear the stars out of his eyes, and felt the fresh cuts on his face tug open. This was why he didn't trust people who wore that many rings.

“Sebastian,” Georgia said, sounding annoyed. Maybe she didn't approve of violence? She waved a hand at the guards flanking the door. “Persuade him that he _does_ know what we're talking about.”

Oh. So it was just her husband engaging in the beatings that she objected to. Great.

The Cotterills stepped back into the hall, and Nate could only watch as the guards slowly approached.

*

Elena slammed the car door behind her and raced over to the van. “What the hell happened?” she asked as soon as Sully stepped out.

“Nate busted his ankle while we were getting the goods,” Sully said, shaking his head. “Not sure if it's a sprain or worse, but it slowed him down. That's when they grabbed him.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah.” Sully gave her an appraising look. “You know more about the Cotterills than I do,” he began. “You don't think they'll kill him, do you?”

Elena shrugged and wrapped her arms around herself. She hated this feeling, the cold fear that Nate was hurt or dead, but even more than that she hated how familiar it was. “They probably had eighteen people killed out at their mine,” she said reluctantly. “And this might have been a setup from the start.”

Sully blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Delaurent used to work for the Cotterills.”

“What!?”

Elena sighed again. “Anthony Delaurent is your client's name, right?” At Sully's stunned nod, she continued. “I found termination papers for him in the study. He'd been working for them as a financial adviser,” a job description that she'd didn't buy for a second, “and about two weeks ago, they cut him loose. From some of the notes I saw, it wasn't an amicable parting.”

Sully leaned back against the side of the van. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Delaurent's been a smuggler for years,” Sully said, still sounding bewildered. “I'd never worked with him before, but I knew the name. People vouched for him.”

And in a business without résumés or background checks, references and reputation were supposed to be trustworthy. “Either he's changed, or your people were wrong,” Elena said. “No way in hell this job is just about some pottery.”

“Nate said the same thing.” Elena frowned, and Sully shook his head. “More or less. We found the pottery, and he thought something was off about it.”

“Did he say what?”

Sully shook his head, looking almost guilty. “I didn't give him a chance,” he said. “He was about to do that thing where he stops everything to stare at some artifact for ten minutes,” Elena chuckled in spite of herself, “and we didn't have time for that.”

“Probably for the best,” Elena said. “Otherwise both of you would have gotten caught.”

“Yeah.” Sully folded his arms. “Think they were working together from the start?”

“Unless those notes were faked, I doubt it,” Elena said. “The e-mails got pretty vicious.”

“Well, that's something, anyway.”

Elena nodded. “We need to get Nate out of there,” she said. “Then we can figure out what's going on.”

“Right.”

They both fell silent, deep in thought. “Maybe we could...” Sully started, then trailed off, shaking his head.

Elena just stared blankly at the side of the van, discarding idea after idea. “Did you manage to get _any_ of the artifacts?” she asked. Sully nodded, and Elena shrugged. He wasn't gonna like this idea, but... “Maybe we could offer a trade?” she suggested. “They get their stuff back if they give us Nate?”

He made a face. “If we have to, we can try that,” he said. “But I'd rather not go with that as Plan A.” After a moment, he tilted his head to the side, staring intently at Elena.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I have an idea,” he said slowly. “It's risky, and probably stupid, but it might work.”

“Sounds like our normal plans, then,” Elena replied. “What're you thinking?”

“You're a better liar than Nate, right?”

Elena snorted. “Yeah, but that's a pretty low bar to clear.”

Sully chuckled as he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. “Good point,” he said. “You wanna hop in the back of the van and change into something easier to run in? I gotta make a call before I'll know if this is gonna work.”

Elena nodded, biting back a sigh. A plan that involved lying, running, and mysterious phone calls. This was gonna go really well.

*

Nate had been beaten and tortured for information before. Several times. He knew how to take a hit when he couldn't really move, knew how to clench his jaw to keep from biting his tongue, knew how to test his bonds without being noticed.

What he didn't know was how to act like he was intimidated when his captors clearly had _no_ idea what they were doing.

These were rented security guards, not hardened thugs, and Nate was pretty sure that 'torturing the prisoner for information' was outside their standard job description. Sure, he had a bloody nose, and he'd be sporting a decent number of bruises come morning, but one of the guards had scraped knuckles from punching the back of the chair when Nate had moved his head out of the way. It was taking a lot of effort not to start offering critiques. But that was the sort of thing that might actually get them to hit him properly, so he kept his mouth shut.

One of the guards punched him just below the eye, the blow landing without much force. That was the one who'd hit the chair earlier, and he'd been pulling his punches ever since. Nate shook his head and squinted up at them. “Hope you guys are gettin' paid extra for this,” he muttered.

The guards exchanged uncertain glances, like they weren't sure if that was an insult or not. Before they could make up their minds, the door swung open, admitting the Cotterills. Nate sighed. Oh, good. Just what he wanted.

Sebastian waved the guards off. “Have you remembered anything you'd like to tell us?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

Nate glanced at Georgia, who just leaned against the desk and folded her arms. “Well, there is one thing,” he said. Sebastian paused in rolling up his sleeves and glanced at Nate expectantly. Nate plastered on a shit-eating grin and silently willed Elena and Sully to hurry the hell up. “The sauvignon was _great_. Is it local, or do you import from--”

He'd seen Sebastian moving towards him as he spoke, but the punch straight to the mouth still came as a bit of a surprise. His head cracked against the back of the chair, and he groaned in pain, tasting blood when he licked his lips. “So now he gets to hit me?” he asked, rolling his head to the side to look at Georgia.

She gave him a thin, mirthless smile. “We ended the party,” she said. “Now I don't have to explain his bloodied knuckles to our guests.”

“Right.” That didn't bode well.

“Who hired you?”

Nate shook his head. He'd go another few rounds of denial, and if the cavalry hadn't shown up by then, he really wouldn't have much choice but to start lying. Based on past experience, that probably wouldn't go well. “Nobody hired me,” he said. “I wasn't--”

Sebastian drew back to hit him again, but shouting from the hall interrupted before he could swing. Nate blinked. That sounded like--

The door slammed open, admitting a pair of uniformed police officers, with Elena hot on their heels. “What the hell is going on here?” she snapped, and Nate had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the sight of her. She'd swapped the gown for her usual button-up and jeans, and he spotted a press badge at her hip as she rounded on Sebastian. Hopefully it was the fake. “You want to explain why you kidnapped my husband?”

Nate was pretty sure he was going to cherish the memory of the expressions on Sebastian and Georgia's faces for the rest of his life. Sebastian mouthed at her in wordless shock before finally finding his voice. “He was found outside the permitted areas for guests,” Sebastian said, addressing his response to the cops, rather than Elena. Nate smirked. That was a mistake. “He attacked one of the guards when they asked him to return to the ballroom.” Nothing about the attempted theft. That was interesting.

Elena stepped between Sebastian and the cop. “That doesn't explain why he's duct-taped to a damn chair in your study,” she said, glaring. “Why didn't you just throw him out if he was causing a disturbance?” Sebastian shot a look at Georgia, and Elena half-turned to the side so she could see both of them. “No, really, I'm waiting to hear an answer,” she said as she pulled a voice recorder from her pocket.

Georgia took a step towards her. “What are you--”

“I'm a journalist,” Elena said, tapping the press badge with her free hand. “As soon as we leave here, I'm calling my producer. I can't _wait_ to hear what the British ambassador has to say about this.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Clearly, there's been a misunderstanding,” he said. He made a sharp gesture at one of the guards, who crossed the room and started cutting the tape away from Nate's arms. “Officers, if you'd be willing to stay here for a few minutes, I'm sure we can work this out.”

Not even trying to be subtle about the bribe. “No, I think they'll be walking us out,” Elena said frostily.

One of the cops cleared his throat. “My partner will see you out, Señora Marks,” he said. Nate let out a quiet sigh of relief. So the fake names were still holding. “I will take the statements.”

And the cash, Nate thought as the last of the tape came free. He got to his feet, rubbing his right arm, and limped towards Elena. She shot a dark glare at the Cotterills as she took his arm. “This isn't over,” she said. “Let's get out of here.”

He just nodded and followed her out into the hall. The officer led them back downstairs; Nate knew better than to ask what had happened, and Elena didn't say anything, just kept her hand on his arm to steady him as they walked.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Elena said to the cop once they'd reached the front gates. She released Nate's arm and reached into her back pocket before reaching out to shake the man's hand. “ _Victor says he really appreciates it._ ”

Elena didn't have his skill for sleight of hand, so Nate didn't miss the bills that she passed to the cop. Then again, it wasn't like they needed to be sneaky about it. The officer smiled. “ _Happy to help_ ,” he replied as he pocketed the cash. “ _Tell Victor to call us anytime._ ”

Elena just nodded, then took Nate's arm again and led him back to the street. As soon as they cleared the gates, he let out a relieved breath. “You are amazing.”

She smiled, finally, and squeezed his arm. “Sully gave me some pointers.”

Of course he did. “Where is he, anyway?”

“On his way to Puerto Colombia,” she said. “We'll meet him there.”

“Heh. Just like we planned.”

She chuckled. “More or less.” She fished the car keys out of her pocket, then pulled the passenger door open for him. Nate half-fell into the seat, wincing a bit. Before he could arrange his legs properly or grab the seatbelt, Elena leaned down and threw her arms around him in a slightly awkward hug.

“You're gonna get blood on your shirt,” Nate pointed out, but he hugged her back anyway.

“I have other shirts.” She held him for a few moments longer, then pressed a kiss to his temple and stepped back. Nate shut the door and got settled into his seat as she circled around the car. “So, you want to tell me your side of things now, or would you rather wait until we catch up to Sully?” she asked.

Nate shrugged. “Eh, might as well wait,” he said. “I hate repeating myself.”

Elena nodded as she pulled the car out onto the street. “Well, then I can tell you the bad news about your client.”

“Uh-oh.”

*

It was just after midnight when Nate limped into Sully’s room at the hotel. “You all right?” Sully asked, looking him over with a worried frown.

“I’m fine,” Nate said, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it onto the arm chair. He’d had far worse, and there were far more pressing matters at stake. “Did you bring the pottery in with you?”

“Yeah.” Sully went to the closet and pulled the crate out, setting it on the bed just as Elena came in with the first aid kit she’d fetched from their room across the hall. “So what happened?”

“I got caught, the Cotterills were really certain that someone hired me, and when Elena showed up with the cops, they didn’t mention the fact that I’d been stealing from them,” Nate said. He rolled up his sleeves and paused to loosen his tie a bit before lifting one of the vases out of the crate. With better lighting and without gloves, it was easy to confirm his suspicious: the pottery was fake. It just wasn’t old enough to be Incan.

Sully sat down on the edge of the bed. “This is a goddamn mess,” he muttered.

“No kidding.” Elena flipped open the lid of the first aid kit and started rummaging around. “Nate, sit down, let me take a look at your ankle.”

“In a second.” He hefted the vase in his hand thoughtfully, then glanced around the room. Not the wall, that’d be too loud, the chair was too soft—his gaze fell on the crate lid, still sitting on the bed. That’d probably work. He nodded to himself, then slammed the vase against the solid wood as hard as he could.

“Jesus, Nate!” Sully twisted around to look at the shattered pottery. “I’m sleeping here tonight, y’know.”

Nate ignored him. Breaking the vase had revealed long strips of cotton padding, wrapped around several small objects. He brushed away the shards of pottery and unwound the fabric, then stopped dead. “Oh.”

Seven raw, uncut emeralds, the smallest about the size of a robin’s egg, spilled out across the comforter. Nate picked one up and held it up to the light. He wasn’t exactly an expert in this sort of thing, but he knew that each of these had to be worth tens of thousands. And there were three more vases here, to say nothing of the four they’d left behind.

“Holy shit,” Sully breathed, picking up one of the stones himself.

Nate tore his eyes away from the jewel to look at Elena, who was staring at the emeralds with an expression verging on horror. “Elena?”

She swallowed hard and glanced at him. “I think I know why the miners were killed.”

Sully frowned. “Because of these?” he asked. “But that doesn’t make sense. They worked at an emerald mine, why would the Cotterills have them killed for mining emeralds? Why would they have them smuggled out, for that matter? These things are worth a fortune!”

“It’s because they’re worth a fortune,” Elena said, waving a hand in the air as she spoke. “La Abeja mine doesn’t produce emeralds of this quality. It’s all low-grade, industrial stuff—still valuable, but not on this level. There are only three mines in Colombia that routinely produce emeralds like this.”

Nate nodded slowly. The picture was starting to come together now. “So their miners hit a vein of the good stuff, and the Cotterills wanted to keep it off the radar,” he said. “Keep the cartels from robbing them.”

“They probably wanted to avoid government attention, too,” Elena said, nodding at him. “Not to mention sharing the spoils with the other shareholders.”

“And the miners who talked got killed?” Sully guessed.

“Or who threatened to talk, probably.” Elena shook her head. “I can’t prove it in court, but I don’t _have_ to. There’s enough circumstantial evidence here to launch an official investigation.”

Nate rolled the emerald around in his hand. “But how does Delaurent fit into all this?” He hadn’t seen fit to mention the fact that he’d worked for the targets, which was suspicious at best.

Elena shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “Their papers had him listed as a financial advisor, said he’d worked for them for a few years.”

“He’s a black market antiquities dealer,” Sully said. “Maybe he helped them build that collection of theirs?”

“And if he’s got black market connections, he was probably helping them sell the emeralds.” Nate tossed the stone back onto the comforter and sank down on the edge of the armchair. His ankle didn’t appreciate all the standing. “Elena, you said they had a falling out?”

“Based on the e-mails, yeah,” Elena said. “Nothing was specific, but Delaurent was definitely pissed about being cut out of something.”

Sully waved a hand at the bed. “I think we found the something.”

Getting cut out of a fortune in emeralds? Yeah. That’d be worth getting pissed about.

*

The three of them fell silent as they stared at the fortune in stolen emeralds. Elena shook her head slightly. She had her story, all right, though it would take some creative editing to explain _how_ she’d found out about the emerald smuggling. ‘My husband and father-in-law, the thieves’ weren’t exactly the best of sources.

“So,” Nate said after a few moments. “Now what?”

“You need to let me patch you up,” Elena said. Unfortunately, at the same time, Sully answered, “We need to call Delaurent before he starts getting suspicious.”

Nate glanced back and forth between them for a second before his gaze settled on Sully. Elena scowled. Dammit. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I’ll call him.”

Elena put her hands on her hips. “Nate--”

“I’m fine,” he said, cutting off her protest.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You sprained your ankle _and_ you're still bleeding.”

He ran the back of his hand across his cheek, and even from across the room, she could see the dried blood left on his knuckles. “Not really,” he said. Stubborn ass. Elena let out an aggravated sigh, preparing to argue with him again, and he held up his hands. “You can attack me with the first aid kit once I’m done.”

“Once you’re done with the phone call,” she clarified, a bit suspiciously.

Suspicions that were justified, based on the mildly irritated look that flickered across his face. “Once I’m done with the phone call,” he agreed. He twisted around to dig the burner phone out of his jacket, then started to dial. Three numbers in, he stopped and looked up at Sully. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

Sully looked from Nate to the emerald in his hand, then over to Elena. “Guess that depends on what we’re tryin’ to do here,” he said. “Can’t really finish our job.”

“And we can’t let the Cotterills get away with this,” Elena said firmly. Eighteen people were dead, victims of greed, and those responsible had to see justice. She’d promised.

Nate smiled briefly at her and nodded. “We’re gonna have to deal with Delaurent somehow, too,” he said. “He’s not gonna be happy if he thinks we stole from him.”

“Ironically enough,” Elena muttered. They couldn’t go to the authorities with this—aside from the obvious reasons of needing to avoid arrest, there wasn’t enough proof to connect the Cotterills to the killings. They could probably prove the smuggling, especially since the other half of the vases (and presumably emeralds) were back at their mansion, but not the deaths.

Sully chuckled. “Kid, I don’t think he’s gonna be happy regardless.” Nate just shrugged.

Elena folded her arms, her mind racing. “I think,” she finally said, “I might have an idea about how we can deal with all our problems at once.”

“Is your idea selling the emeralds ourselves and moving to Fiji?” Sully asked with a grin.

“No.”

“Damn.”

She rolled her eyes and explained her plan. Nate and Sully had a few suggestions, but overall… well, she wouldn’t call it a _good_ plan, but it was the best they had.

Nate flipped the phone around in his hands. “So, I still need to call Delaurent,” he said, glancing at Sully expectantly.

Sully nodded. “Tell him we only got one crate out, but we know about the emeralds,” he said. “Righteous indignation is what you’re going for here—he was trying to screw us out of cash by lying about what we were stealing.”

“Right.”

“You're gonna say you want more money. Or the same amount for half the goods,” Sully said. He paused. “Tell him you want more money first, then make the offer of taking the same amount. It’ll make settling sound like a better deal that way.”

“Okay.” Nate’s gaze was a bit unfocused as he stared through the bed, clearly deep in thought. Elena stayed quiet, for the moment.

Sully rubbed his forehead. “Try and get us a couple hours before we meet, too, so Elena’s got time to make her calls.”

Elena glanced at her watch and grimaced. It was close to twelve-thirty already. Hopefully the combination of justice served and enormous sums of money would smooth over the late-night phone calls.

Nate took a deep breath. “Right,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. “Here we go.”

As he dialed the number, Elena came around the bed and took a seat next to Sully. “You think this’ll work?” she asked.

He shrugged. “If not, there’s always the Fiji plan. It’s nice this time of year.”

“I’m pretty sure Fiji’s nice _all_ times of the year.”

Nate glanced at them and smirked, but before he could say anything his attention snapped back to the phone call. “Delaurent. It’s Drake,” he said, voice dripping with ill-concealed anger. “We’ve got a problem.”

He went quiet for a moment, and Elena could make out a faint, tinny voice on the other end of the line. “Well, we could start with the part where you lied about what we were stealing,” Nate said. “The pottery’s fake. But I'm pretty sure the emeralds are the real thing.” Another pause. “Yeah, I found ‘em. Bit of advice: if you don’t want people to realize your artifacts are fakes, don’t hire a couple of antiquities experts to steal them.”

Another pause, and Nate scowled. “Well, I don’t think—” Delaurent cut him off, and Nate scowled. Elena glanced back at the emeralds and finally gave in to the temptation to pick one up. Even raw and unpolished, the stones were beautiful. A shame they came with so much blood on them.

“Look, pal, we can just take the emeralds we’ve got and sell ‘em ourselves, you’re not the only—yeah, the ones we got. That’s the other problem.” Nate glanced over at Elena and Sully and made a face; Sully chuckled, while Elena shook her head. “We only got half of ‘em. Somebody must’ve seen us slip out of the party and tipped off the guards, we didn’t have time to get the rest.”

Nate winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, and even at this distance, Elena could hear Delaurent shouting. “—ck do you _mean_ you only got half, Drake!?”

“I mean I only got four of the vases, okay?” Nate snapped as he brought the phone back to his ear. “So either you take the emeralds we got and pay us fifty percent over our price, or we’ll go sell ‘em ourselves.” More yelling from the other end of the call, though this time Elena couldn’t make out the words. “You know what, we don’t need you, so why don’t you just--”

Sully made a frantic dial-it-down gesture, and Nate cut himself off. Delaurent said something else. “Look, the job went sideways, you lied to us, let’s just—finish the deal and get out of here, all right?” Nate said with a glance at Sully. Sully gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll take the amount we agreed on originally. I know we only got you half, but there’s two dozen emeralds in here that I wasn’t expecting, so you’re paying extra for that.”

Another pause. “Okay, fine, eighty percent. But don’t expect me to say nice things about you if anyone asks.” Nate paused, then snorted. “Yeah, same to you, pal. Where’re we meeting?” He nodded and glanced at his watch. “When? Can we do two-thirty? It’s gonna take a while to get out—okay, fine, what about two? Okay. Yeah. I’ll be there.” He hung up the phone and turned to Sully. “How’d I do?”

“You got us the meeting,” Sully said. “Good job.”

Nate beamed, clearly pleased by the approval. Elena twisted around to grab the first aid kit. “Now will you let me do something about your ankle?”

“You’ve gotta make your call,” Nate pointed out.

Elena made a face. He was right—they had less than ninety minutes to pull everything else together, and her part was going to be tricky. Still, he could look a little less triumphant about it. “Your macho bullshit’s gonna be the death of you,” she muttered as she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

“What was that?” Nate asked.

“Nothing, dear.” Elena poked at her phone until she found the number she needed, then held out her hand for the burner phone. As soon as Nate handed it over, she dialed and put the phone to her ear. It rang a few times before someone picked up. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Hello, is Héctor Marino available?”

“Speaking.” The man who’d answered sounded tired, but not so bleary that she thought he’d woken him up.

“Mr. Marino, my name is Elena Fisher. I’m an investigative journalist. I apologize for calling so late, but I have some information that I think you might be interested in. You're one of the shareholders in La Abeja mines, correct?”

There was a brief pause. “Yes,” Marino said slowly. “What sort of information?”

Elena took a deep breath. “How much do you trust the Cotterills?”

*

Nate slid a hand under his jacket, making sure he could easily draw his pistol. It was a nervous habit he’d developed not long after he’d started carrying a gun on a regular basis. He leaned against the wall of the warehouse, keeping weight off his still-aching ankle, and glanced around the dark, quiet wharf. His role in this scheme was simple enough: walk in, give the crate to Delaurent, walk out. The key was timing. If anyone arrived or left before they were supposed to…

Also, he was a little worried about getting shot. Delaurent had been pretty pissed on the phone, and there was nothing to say he wouldn’t just shoot him and take the emeralds.

He sighed. “Would you quit it?” Sully grumbled, a little staticky through the earpiece. “Elena’s nowhere near you, no reason for all the heavy breathing.”

“Sully!” Elena hissed, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Elena, any sign of them?” he asked, willfully ignoring Sully.

“Not yet,” she said. “They’re supposed to call when they’re on their way.”

“Right.” Timing. Very, very precise timing.

“There’s our guy,” Sully muttered. “Coming up the far side of the building, heading for the door.”

Nate checked his watch. “Huh. Only twenty minutes early.”

“Yeah, I expected him ten minutes ago, at least,” Sully agreed.

Nate glanced down at the crate of stolen emeralds. Sully was up on the roof of another warehouse, playing lookout, but the meeting was taking place inside. If things went south, Nate wouldn’t have anyone to cover him.

Another five minutes dragged by while Nate sighed and fidgeted and checked his gun. Finally, though, he heard Elena take a sharp breath. “Hang on,” she said, and there was a short click as she switched off her ear piece.

“Sounds like it’s almost showtime,” Sully muttered.

“Yeah.”

“Sure you don’t want me to--”

Nate shook his head, even though Sully couldn’t see him. “No. Delaurent was pretty clear about it being a one-on-one meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Sully said. “But if he comes out of the building before you, I’m gonna shoot first.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.” Mostly because if Delaurent left first, Nate would probably have been shot and thus not in a position to stop anyone.

Another click, then Elena’s voice. “Marino’s about five minutes out,” she said. “Time to get moving.”

“Right. Talk to you guys in a bit.” Nate pulled the earpiece off and slipped it into his pocket, though he left the mic on. He wasn’t sure how well Sully and Elena would be able to hear anything, but it was worth a try. He picked up the crate and headed for the warehouse door. Walking hurt, but he ignored it. He couldn’t let Delaurent see that obvious of a weakness.

It was unlocked, as expected, and he shouldered it open, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. “About time,” Delaurent drawled. He was sitting in a rusty folding chair, his feet propped up on a large crate, all in a pose of calculated relaxation.

“I’m fifteen minutes early,” Nate replied. “Not my fault you’re a paranoid asshole.”

“But it is your fault that you’ve only brought half the goods.” Delaurent took a drag on his cigarette and squinted at Nate. “You look like hell.”

“You should see the other guy,” Nate said flatly.

Delaurent snorted and flicked the remains of his cigarette off into the darkness, then rolled to his feet. “That’s it?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah.” He set the crate on Delaurent’s former footrest and stepped back. “Three vases, some chunks of pottery, bunch of emeralds.”

Delaurent lifted the lid and peered inside. “There’d better be twenty-six stones in here, or we’ll have a problem,” he said.

“Look, I only cracked open one of the vases,” Nate said, folding his arms. “I don’t know how many were in the other ones.”

“Uh-huh.” Delaurent let the lid fall shut.

Nate shifted his weight slightly. “You’ve got my money?”

Delaurent snorted. “Of course not.”

Well, he couldn’t say he was surprised. “What?”

“You only bring me half the goods, get caught--”

“I didn’t get caught!” Nate protested.

“Bullshit.” Delaurent waved a hand at Nate’s face. “You stuck around long enough for a fist-fight, which means you got made, Drake. And now I have to walk away from a very lucrative business opportunity, all thanks to you.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “I'd have thought that getting fired was the end of the business opportunity,” he said. “Unless you're planning on sending thieves in every other month to keep lifting the emeralds.”

Delaurent stared at him, eyes narrowing, and it slowly dawned on Nate that he may have overplayed his hand. “You told them I hired you, and they told you everything.”

Well, no, on both counts. “I didn't,” Nate said. “Delaurent, look--”

He considered himself a pretty quick draw, but Delaurent had his gun out of the holster and trained on Nate’s head faster than he could blink. Shit. He _knew_ he was gonna get shot. “Steal from me _and_ sell me out?” Delaurent snapped. “I should shoot you right now.”

Nate put his hands up and tried to subtly shift his weight to his left leg. He didn't want to make any sudden moves with a gun pointed at him, and he was pretty sure that collapsing because his ankle gave out counted as sudden. “And end up with a murder charge on your head, too?”

“Like anyone would find you here.”

“You wanna bet on it?”

Delaurent shrugged, keeping the gun leveled on Nate’s head. “Sure. I’ve got enough bullets to deal with anyone who comes looking for you.”

Okay, that hadn’t gone as planned. He really needed to get out of this. Now. Nate took a single, deep breath. “Listen, you don't--”

The door literally slammed off its hinges, clattering against the wall and then the floor. Nate half-turned, hands still raised, as five black-clad men carrying about three guns apiece stormed into the warehouse. “ _Drop it!_ ” one of them barked; Nate heard Delaurent's gun hit the ground a second later.

So, things weren't going quite according to plan, Nate thought as he was once again marched along by a group of guards who didn't seem to care that he'd sprained his ankle. At least this time Elena and Sully would be wherever the guards were taking him. Hopefully. Assuming that these were Marino's guards, and not some random paramilitary group.

They rounded a corner, and Nate let out a sigh of relief as he spotted Elena and Sully standing beside another couple of the black-clad guards and a tall, tired-looking Hispanic man. Thank God.

“Nate!” Elena ran over to him; behind her, Marino waved his hand, and the guards pinning his arms released him. Elena stopped about arm's length away, looking like she wanted to hug him. But this wasn't the place. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I'm fine.” His ankle throbbed in pain, as if in response to the lie, and he frowned. “Wouldn't mind sitting down, though.”

“I'll bet,” Sully said as he came over. He grabbed Nate's arm, and Nate leaned on him as he hobbled over to a bench. Nate sagged back against the wooden slats with a sigh and closed his eyes for a minute. It had been a really long day. “Sure you're okay, kid?” Sully asked.

Nate opened his eyes and nodded. “I'll be fine.”

The guard who hadn't been on prisoner duty carried the crate over. Nate watched as Marino peered inside, and he couldn't help but smirk as the man swore colorfully and lifted out one of the emeralds. “You were telling the truth, Ms. Fisher,” he said, though he didn't take his eyes off the jewel. “You have my sincere thanks.”

“You set me up!” Delaurent snarled, though he seemed to know better than to fight against the guards holding him. “You son of a bitch!”

Sully straightened up and turned towards him. “Maybe you should've picked someone else to steal from,” he said. “Or vetted your buyer more carefully.” He patted Nate on the shoulder; Nate put on the most innocent smile he could muster, which still looked guilty of at least a few misdemeanors.

“I'll _kill_ you--”

“Get him out of here,” Marino cut in. “And secure these.” He waved a hand at the crate, and all but two of his guards departed. There was a briefcase sitting by his feet, Nate noticed as the dock emptied out, quiet save for Delaurent's angry shouting.

Marino shook his head. “Thank you for uncovering all of this,” he said, glancing at the three of them. “The rest of the shareholders and I are truly grateful.”

Sully cleared his throat. “Just, ah, how grateful are we talking here?”

“I already discussed a reward with Ms. Fisher,” he said, reaching down for the briefcase. He balanced it on one arm as he opened it, revealing a sizable amount of bundled cash.

Elena's eyes went huge. “I, uh, thanks,” she stammered. Marino snapped the briefcase shut and handed it to her; Nate couldn't help but grin at the mildly stunned look on her face. Sully patted his shoulder again, then sidled up to Elena and took the case off her hands.

“I'll be very interested to hear what Sebastian and Georgia have to say about this,” Marino said, holding up the emerald again. “We'll be stopping there next.”

“Not waiting until morning?” Sully asked.

“I would rather not give them time to flee the country.”

Elena nodded. “You'll be compensating the families of the deceased miners?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “And you'll have full access to myself and my fellow shareholders for your story, as agreed.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “I look forward to speaking to you again.”

“Perhaps not tomorrow, though,” he said as they shook hands. “It's been a rather long night.”

“Yes, it has,” Nate agreed. Marino followed after his guards, still toying with the emerald in his hand.

Nate sighed and let his head fall to the back of the bench. “Well,” he said, staring up at the sky. “That went well.”

“It did,” Elena said, sounding proud. “Also, that's the first time anyone's ever handed me a briefcase full of cash.”

Sully chuckled. “You'll get used to it.” He set the case down on the bench beside Nate and popped it open. Up close, Nate could see that there wasn't quite as much cash as he'd originally thought. Still a decent amount. “Looks like we'll break even,” Sully said, picking up one of the stacks and thumbing through it.

Nate sighed. So much for that beach vacation. “Well, at least we didn't go bankrupt.”

“We _did_ expose corrupt mine owners and a crooked black market dealer,” Elena pointed out.

“Heroics don't pay the bills, sweetheart,” Sully said.

“Yes, they do,” Elena said. “This is literally what I get paid for.”

Sully laughed. “Good point.” He held out his free hand to Nate. “C'mon, kid, up you get. Unless you wanna sleep out here tonight.”

Nate grabbed his hand and let Sully pull him upright. “No, the hotel's sounding pretty good right now,” he said. Elena came up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist, and together, the three of them headed for the car.

 


End file.
